You are not lifeless.
You are as alive as the trees rustling in the warm autumn wind. You are as alive as warm water flowing on soft black pebbles.
Blood coursing through your veins, an orange-ish hue of your past floats across your mind.
You continue to ponder why you are not worth anything.
“Why am I like this?” you ask yourself in the mirror as you feel the circles around your eyes in concentric motions.
“Why are they so dense? Why am I so unhappy?”
In the suburbs of New York, you lie on your couch,
lucidly thinking about the changes you need to make in your static life.
I speak to you, and ask sister, “what do you want from life?”
I hear nothing back, but the indifferent hum of the phone line.
I ask you again,
and you say coldly: “nothing.”
For years as a child I idolised you for being the person you are: unabashed about your individuality, happy and hilarious, but now even the phone line feels heavy, ten thousand miles away.
Your strength and ruthlessness made me proud to be your little sister.
But somehow, New York changed you.
A dystopian life of dreams unmet, because of mental unrest.
“She looks better than me”
“I can’t believe they are at Fashion Week and not me”
“He doesn’t want me for the long term, but I’ll still be around him”
And there goes another cycle of self deterioration, as does the skin on your toes.
I see you on video, and you stare at me blankly,
the only time your face lights up is when you look at new life fondly.
Perhaps, that’s all you’re looking for: a new start and someone to believe in and love you.
Hold you when you need it most, and I hope you get it after realizing the importance of loving yourself first.
If only you could see yourself from my eyes,
you’d know you’re worth all this and more.